


Hunters and Allomancers

by EHyde



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Mistborn - Brandon Sanderson, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen, alloy of law era, crossover AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 12:50:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1388311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EHyde/pseuds/EHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Mistborn/SPN crossover. After the events of Alloy of Law, Marasi decides to see the Roughs for herself. She runs into Sam Winchester, a fellow law student from Elendel, and discovers that he has more secrets than she knew--and maybe more than he knows himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunters and Allomancers

“Sam?” The tall man sitting alone in the dark corner of the saloon looked older, more tired, than the enthusiastic student Marasi had met while studying law in Elendel, but it was unquestionably Sam Winchester. What had brought him here, to the roughs? Well, she mused, he might just as well ask her the same question. Marasi had delivered Ironeyes’ book to Wax—after reading it and making a copy for herself, of course—but … she needed some time away, after everything that had happened. Somehow, the roughs didn’t seem so dangerous anymore.

Sam straightened in his seat. “Lady Marasi?” He motioned for her to join him. “So you finally decided to see the roughs for yourself.”

Marasi blushed. Her enthusiasm for stories of life in the wild had never been a secret, and looking back on it now, she could easily see how it might have been interpreted as a foolish obsession. She nodded, though. “What about you? Last I saw you, you were well on your way to becoming a lawyer in Elendel. Then you disappeared.”

Sam’s expression darkened. “You didn’t hear?” Marasi shook her head. “Jess died. Murdered.”

Marasi’s eyes widened. She had never met Sam’s fiancee, but from the way Sam had spoken about her, she knew how close they must have been. “I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t know, I—” What could she have done, though?

“Don’t,” said Sam harshly. “It happened, and I can’t change that. What I _can_ do is find the one that shot her and bring him to justice.”

“That’s what you’re doing out here?” Sam nodded. “So you have a lead?”

“Don’t turn this into one of your adventure stories.”

“I’m not, I—” How could she explain that her “adventure stories” weren’t just stories anymore, that she’d gotten involved in something real?

“I don’t, anyway,” Sam went on. “Have a lead. But hunting down people who don’t want to be found, that’s the life I was raised in. I’m working a job with my brother now, but … well, anyway. Maybe it’ll lead to something.”

“You’re a bounty hunter.” Sam had been all but silent about the life and the family he’d left behind before law school. Marasi knew he was an allomancer, a Seeker, but that didn’t say much about his family, not these days.

“The family business.” He didn’t elaborate.

“I, um, got involved in some interesting business myself,” Marasi began. “I don’t know what sort of news you get out here—did you hear about the Vanishers?”

Sam blinked. Clearly he had. “You were mixed up with that? Well. I’m glad you’re safe.”

 _Glad I’m safe,_ Marasi thought. She was the one who—but nevermind. They were both of them different people now, that much was clear. “Thanks,” she said, instead.

“Hey there, Sammy, who’s your friend?” Another man approached Sam’s table, casually depositing a handful of coins and bills in front of him.

“Oh, um, this is Lady Marasi Colms, I knew her in college. Marasi, this is my brother Dean.”

“ _Lady_ Marasi, huh?” Dean asked, looking her up and down. “From _college_.”

“Oh, um, just Marasi,” she said, blushing. “Please. And um, if I’m in the way of anything I can just …” She stood up to leave. Sam had mentioned, or well, hinted, that his father and brother had no time for college or for rich city folk; if Dean was going to be that way then she didn’t have to stick around.

“No, stay,” Sam insisted. He turned to Dean. “You made out well.”

Dean glanced back in the direction he’d come from. “Idiots don’t know how to play cards.”

“Dean’s a Twinborn,” Sam explained. “Pewterarm and Sparker. He’s smarter than he looks, when he needs to be.”

Marasi nodded. Gambling was probably _not_ one of the most ethahical uses for feruchemic zinc, but, well, she couldn’t think of any reason why increasing your mental speed would actually be considered cheating.

Evidently, others disagreed. A man and a woman were approaching the table, and they didn’t look at all friendly. “Hand over the money, and there won’t be any trouble,” the man. The woman held a gun at her side.

“There’s been a misunderstanding,” Sam said, calmly. “My brother won that from you fairly. Now—”

“Don’t pull that brass crap with me, son! I can tell when I’m being Soothed, just like I can tell when I’m being cheated!”

Soothed? But Sam wasn’t—Dean shot Sam a look, then turned back to the couple. “Look, fellas, sometimes you lose at cards, that’s just the way it—”

A shot rang out. The woman with the gun looked at it, looked horrified. “I didn’t mean to—he was burning brass and I had to, had to fight it, and I—didn’t mean—”

It was a known phenomenon, a part of Marasi reflected. People who thought their emotions were being manipulated would fight to resist, would overcompensate, would do things they’d never really meant to do. It was not an excuse that held any water in a court of law, but people would … that was running through the back of her mind, the student trying to retreat, trying to distract herself from what was in front of her, which was Sam’s brother Dean slumped against the wall, blood sprouting from his chest.

The saloon had gone quiet. Despite what the stories might say, this sort of thing did not happen every day in the Roughs. Marasi couldn’t tell how bad the gunshot wound was, she needed— “We need a surgeon,” she said. Sam’s eyes didn’t leave Dean, he was just staring, just—Marasi didn’t know how Jess had been killed. Had it been like this? “We need a doctor!” she said, louder this time, to the crowd that had started to form. Then, “He’s alive, Sam. We just need a doctor.”

One by one, people in the crowd shook their heads. There were no doctors here. Sam blinked. Took a breath. “Doc Harvelle, she’s still around?”

“She’s on the other side of town—you won’t get to her in time,” said the barman.

“I’m a Coinshot, I can get there quickly,” said Sam, which was a lie, of course, but it was a “stop talking and let me do what I need to do” lie.

“There’s no time, son,” the barman repeated. “You should stay with your brother.”

“I’ll make time,” said Marasi. Sam looked at her, understanding. He’d seen her make time bubbles before. “Go,” she said. “We need a doctor.” She pulled out her vial of metals and downed it as Sam stepped back. She only needed a small bubble, just big enough for herself and Dean. That meant it could be a strong one. As she burned cadmium those around her sped up into a blur, Sam vanishing out the front door almost immediately.

She didn’t notice his return until he stood still in front of her, holding still long enough to stop the motion blur. A woman stood at his side carrying a surgeon’s bag. “There and back in less than a minute,” Marasi said as she lowered the speed bubble.

“Too fast, if you ask me,” the doctor said. “If any of my equipment was broken, carrying me through the night sky like that …” She turned to Dean. “What trouble did you boys get yourselves into today?”

Carrying her through the night sky? But Sam _wasn’t_ a Coinshot … and he wasn’t a Soother either …

The doctor knelt beside Dean and began to do her work, and Marasi stepped up beside Sam. “You’re Mistborn, aren’t you?” she whispered. He turned to her, a panicked expression on his face. “I won’t say anything. But—you are.” There hadn’t been any Mistborn since the time of the Lord Mistborn himself, and many people today thought them a myth altogether, but there was no reason why someone with the right genetics wouldn’t— “House Caimbel,” she realized. She’d seen the genealogies. House Caimbel had been all but destroyed over thirty years ago, but it had contained the strongest allomantic heritage, the most likely—it had almost been as if someone had been _trying_ to produce a Mistborn.

Marasi paused. Given what she had seen … that wasn’t entirely out of the question. And the only known survivor of the disaster that destroyed the noble house had been a young woman, a Pewterarm, if the records were accurate. “Your mother,” she said. “Lady Mare Caimbel?”

Sam nodded briefly, distracted. Well, she couldn’t blame him. She joined him waiting in silence.

“Your brother will be fine,” the doctor said, finally. “If we could move him to a bed …?” This was directed at the barman, who hastily nodded.

As Sam and the doctor put together a makeshift stretcher to move Dean upstairs, Marasi pulled the barman aside. “The woman who shot him,” she began.

“Lawwoman came for those two while you were waiting on the doctor.”

“Good,” said Marasi. “If she tries to argue she wasn’t at fault, don’t—”

“Don’t you worry,” the barman said. “Jodie’ll hold them tight. Those two have been causing trouble in these parts for some time now.” Right. Of course the local law enforcement knew how to handle things, they didn’t need her city education. She nodded at the barman and went upstairs after Sam. “Um,” she began. “I should leave you alone with your brother.” There were so many things she wanted, needed, to ask him, but Dean had almost died. They’d want to be alone. “Can I come find you in the morning?”

Sam motioned for her to enter the room. “Stay a while,” he said. “You saved his life.”

The doctor nodded as if to confirm this. “That cadmium trick,” she said. “Girl, if I could have someone like you on site every time someone was shot …” She picked up her bag. “I’ll be back in the morning to check in,” she said. “Now, I know you, Dean Winchester, so don’t do anything stupid. Stay in that bed.”

“Yes ma’am.” The doctor left, shutting the door behind her. “So,” said Dean. “Not getting rid of me that easy.”

“Dean, don’t—”

“ ‘s all right,” said Dean. “I know you’re only out here on account of Jess. I’m just slowing you down, right?”

“I never—that’s not what I meant.” This was private, this was family business. Marasi should leave. “Dean, it’s—the bullet that killed Jess is still lodged in my chest. Do you know what that’s like? Every day, I can feel the thing that killed her, and I will _never_ not be doing this because of her. But you’re my brother, and if I lost you too I don’t know—”

Marasi didn’t leave.

Dean nodded. “Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t …”

“You should rest,” said Sam. “We’ll be right outside.” He wanted to question her, Marasi realized, wanted to know just how much she’d figured out. The problem was, she wasn’t sure of that herself.

“When Jess was shot,” she asked. “Was it like this?”

“No, it—” Sam broke off. “I didn’t do anything, I was right there and I didn’t do anything. Of all people, I should have been able to—but I just burned pewter and healed myself, while she—and she should have been able to heal, that’s the worst part. It was right after Miles Hundredlives’ execution and she’d stopped wearing her metalminds. She said it felt weird, tainted, to be like him.”

“Jess was a Bloodmaker?”

Sam nodded. “And if she’d been wearing them she would have been fine, but every time I think that it’s like I’m blaming her, and—”

“The only one at fault is the one who shot her,” said Marasi. She paused. “I have something I think you should read.” Miles Hundredlives had been a gold compounder, and Marasi knew firsthand how hard he’d been to stop. She tried to imagine that power on top of a full Mistborn out of legend.

Whoever had killed Jess knew what Sam was. Somebody was trying to craft a weapon that couldn’t be killed.

**Author's Note:**

> So I meant this to be a oneshot, even though the ending's obviously very inconclusive ... mostly it's meant as a taste of what this crossover would be; if you're familiar with both of the source materials then you probably have a pretty good idea of where it would go from here.
> 
> If there's enough interest though, I could probably be persuaded to write more!
> 
> I'm fallenwithstyle on tumblr if you want to come say hi over there.


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